Sunday, June 24, 2007

Our Ancestor's Curse [draft]

Our ancestry placed us in chains
Shackling our imagination to a sinister cellar
Amid the pickling jars and moonshine
Stashed for future need

It is no wonder that our thoughts are always turned inward
And we do not see well beyond the darkness of our desperation
Souls entombed in black and surrounded by things preserved

They are dead to the present
But it is believed their usefulness
Is sometime in the distant future

What are we here for anyway—
We cannot possibly see beyond our means
Past the dead cucumbers of harvest
So many summers ago

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